


Cloud-watching, with a side of petrichor infused tea

by Ashley2011



Series: Kartik and Aman: A love story [3]
Category: Shubh Mangal Zyada Saavdhan (2020)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff without Plot, Husbands, Living Together, M/M, Rain, Reminiscing, Silence, Slice of Life, Tea, rooftop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:07:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24040297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashley2011/pseuds/Ashley2011
Summary: "So they sit, two lovers, sipping tea in companionable silence as the wind plays with their hair. Kartik likes this interlude, this break from their hectic lives, simply sitting together and enjoying each other's company."Another slice of life one shot of Aman and Kartik, spending a lazy afternoon cloud-watching.Update: and now, months later, a prequel :)
Relationships: Kartik Singh/Aman Tripathi
Series: Kartik and Aman: A love story [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1646779
Comments: 46
Kudos: 80





	1. Of teacups and cuddles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Autumnal_Leaves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Autumnal_Leaves/gifts).



> I gave myself two challenges while writing this:  
> 1\. No Dialogues 2. No switching of POVs.  
> And this is what came of it. 
> 
> This piece of fluff-without-plot is dedicated to the lovely @Autumnal_Leaves for egging me on and helping me overcome writer's slump. This one's for you! :D

**petrichor** [ pe-trahy-kawr, ‐ker ]  
 _noun_  
a distinctive scent, usually described as earthy, pleasant, or sweet, produced by rainfall on dry ground.

...............................................................

Kartik peers out of the kitchen window as he waits for the water in the electric kettle to boil. Dark monsoon clouds have been gathering for the better part of the morning, and Kartik knows it is going to start raining any moment. He sets aside the sugar container, goes to their bedroom, and closes the window just above their bed, not wanting to be subjected to a soggy mattress later on. As he makes his way back to the kitchen, he notices the empty spot on their lumpy sofa which had been previously occupied by his husband.

He doesn't pay much mind to it. It's not that Aman will manage to get lost in their tiny 1BHK apartment.

Kartik returns to the kitchen, and brings out two cups, adds sugar and tea bags, and pours the water from the kettle into the two cups. As he stirs the tea, he can feel a gentle breeze on his face due to his close proximity to the kitchen window. The breeze is accompanied by the smell of dust and impending rain, almost overpowering the aroma of tea wafting from the teacups.

Teacups in hand, he makes his way to the living room and almost misses the fact that the love of his life is actually perched upon the box window seat. The window curtains billowing in the breeze almost manages to hide Aman from view, but not for long, and definitely not from Kartik. Kartik's eyes would always find Aman.

Kartik watches Aman for a few moments. Today, he has borrowed Kartik's long-sleeved mustard T-shirt to wear (no complaints there) and his hair is a bit ruffled, probably due to the wind. He is sitting cross-legged, facing outward, posture relaxed, eyes on the looming clouds. Kartik cannot help but enjoy the sight of a relaxed Aman (that too dressed in one of his favourite items of clothing) and would have continued with his "admiring the husband" routine from a distance, if not for the steaming cups of tea in his hands. Kartik will be faced with a very grumpy Aman if the tea is lukewarm or God forbid, cold. He doesn't want that to happen, not after the amazing _Aloo parantha_ breakfast in bed Aman had surprised him with.

Kartik crosses the living room and reaches the window seat. He produces the cup of tea right under Aman's nose, who reacts with a wordless gasp and quickly grabs onto the cup with both hands. Aman turns his head towards him and gives him a pleased smile, no doubt because of the unexpected cup of tea.

Mission accomplished, Kartik Singh style.

Kartik bumps his elbow against Aman's shoulder, signalling him to move. Aman quickly shifts to his right, and Kartik sits down beside him, tea in hand. He watches Aman inhale the aroma of the tea before raising the cup to his lips. He lets out an appreciative hum after the first sip, and Kartik hides his smile behind his own cup of tea. Watching Aman drink tea is an experience in itself. The man is very particular about his tea, but surprisingly, he never turns down tea that Kartik would prepare. His tea-making skills are novice compared to Aman's, but Aman has never once refused it (not even that one time when Kartik had accidentally added four spoons of sugar instead of two).

So they sit, two lovers, sipping tea in companionable silence as the wind plays with their hair. Kartik likes this interlude, this break from their hectic lives, simply sitting together and enjoying each other's company. Had it been a few years ago, Kartik would have been unable to sit still or be silent for such extended periods, but now, with Aman, he has begun to appreciate the moments of calm, the moments of comfortable silences. He loves these moments of tranquillity, but only if he has Aman by his side.

Aman nudges his shoulder with his own, and Kartik is interrupted from his musings. He turns his head to ask him what he wants, but Aman has already rested his head on Kartik's shoulder and wrapped his left arm around his waist to keep him closer. As if Kartik is going anywhere. Seeing that Aman and he were both done with their tea, he takes Aman's empty cup from his hands and keeps both the cups in the corner of the window seat. He can always wash them later. Right now he has a husband to cuddle.

Hands freed of teacups, Aman uncrosses his legs and snuggles further into Kartik's side, resting his head over Kartik's heart. Kartik relaxes and leans against the window grills on his left, gently tugging Aman towards him. Aman is now half on his lap and half on the window seat, but they don't really care. He holds on to Aman, occasionally caressing his cheek, his ear, his hair. Aman sighs contently as the first rumble of clouds reverberates across the sky.

Kartik looks down at his husband. He notices Aman's eyes following the movement of the clouds. Aman had once told him that cloud-watching was one of his favourite childhood pastimes. Kartik wonders what is going on inside that brain of his. He doesn't want to interrupt the comfortable silence they are sharing at the moment, so Kartik keeps his wondering to himself. Maybe he is reminiscing about another cloudy day like this? The one from two and a half years ago, when a certain Aman Tripathi and a certain Kartik Singh were lying on their backs, cloud-watching on a rooftop? a cosy late afternoon turning into evening when Kartik had been pointing out the various shaped clouds, each more ridiculous than the previous one, and Aman had turned his head, interrupted his spiel about house-shaped clouds, and said those three magical words aloud for the first time?

Kartik smiles at the memory. His younger self had gaped like a fish out of water, forgetting all about house-shaped and unicorn-shaped clouds. By the time he managed to make his vocal cords functional enough to reciprocate the words, a sudden heavy downpour had derailed his plan. They hadn't been able to run for shelter fast enough, because Kartik had pulled Aman into a searing, all-consuming kiss right there, on that rooftop, in the pouring rain.

And Aman had kissed him back.

He still remembers that feeling of triumph and warmth, despite the wet clothes, and the urgency to hold on and never let go. Because he knew then, with absolute certainty, that he can never let go of his light, his treasure, _his Aman_.

Aman seems to have taken a break from cloud-watching because now he is looking up at Kartik unblinkingly, face half smushed against Kartik's chest, glasses sitting a bit crooked on his nose. Aman lifts his index finger and traces the curve of Kartik's lips, mirroring that nostalgic smile on own lips, as if he knows exactly what memory Kartik is reminiscing about. Kartik catches Aman's wayward finger with his left hand and kisses the tip, and then proceeds to kiss his hand. This elicits a huff of laughter from Aman. Kartik holds his hand like it is the most precious, most delicate thing he has ever held. He traces the lines, callouses and little scars on his palm, and thinks about all the kindness this hand has imparted. His fingers run over the smooth metal of Aman's wedding ring, and he marvels at how the sight of Aman wearing that ring brings so much joy to his heart. Kartik pushes back the long sleeve of the T-shirt away from Aman's wrist and drops a kiss on his pulse point. Aman shivers against him, clearly affected.

Kartik can never get enough of him. There's a softness about Aman Tripathi, especially today, when he looks so otherworldly, with his reading glasses, tousled hair, and clothes so big on him that he is practically drowning in them. The world outside may have darkened, yet Kartik Singh has his personal sun right here in his arms.

While Kartik muses about his beautiful husband, Aman brings Kartik's and his joined hands to rest over his heart. Then he once again turns his gaze towards the horizon.

Soon it starts to drizzle. The wind also picks up speed, depositing dust and dried leaves at their feet. Kartik can see the dust settle and the asphalt of their narrow street getting darker with raindrops.

However, the drizzle turns into a full-blown downpour in no time, and Kartik decides it's time to move. The gentle breeze is now a fierce gale, bringing rainwater along, and they are both going to get wet if they don't go back in. Surprisingly, Aman shows no intention of moving from his cosy spot. Usually, Aman would be the one to jump up and exclaim that they both get away from the rain. But today, he is in a different world altogether.

Well, now is a once-in-a-lifetime chance for Kartik Singh to be the sensible one, it seems.

Before he can so much as lift his hand from around Aman's waist, he is met with a grunt of annoyance. Kartik is already pretty much drenched on his left side, and he is contemplating whether it is possible to lift Aman and get both of them down from the window seat. But Aman gives him no such opportunity. In a swift motion, he slips from under Kartik's arm, and straddles him, trapping him in place. He encircles his arms around Kartik's neck, a small smile playing on his lips.

It registers in Kartik's very much stunned brain how truly breathtaking Aman looks right now- hair wet, eyes shining behind his glasses, head tilted to one side. Seeing that self-satisfied smile on Aman's face makes goosebumps break out on Kartik’s skin. He looks exactly like-

_How he looked at Kartik that day, two and a half years ago, on that rooftop, during a milestone moment in their relationship._

Aman seems to be intending to recreate just that. His smile widens when he sees understanding dawning on Kartik's eyes. Aman surges forward and captures Kartik's lips in a kiss, soft at first, until an invisible fire is kindled and the kiss turns passionate in a matter of seconds. Kartik closes his eyes and tilts his head as he kisses back with equal fervour, sucking on Aman's bottom lip. The smell of petrichor, the sound of thunder, the pinpricks of raindrops assaulting his face, the taste of Aman's lips, all things together make Kartik go into sensory overload. He parts his lips, overwhelmed, and Aman dives in, swiping his tongue inside Kartik's mouth. Despite the passion in their kiss, Kartik has enough brain cells left to notice the lack of urgency in this kiss. As the raging fire slowly simmers down to a low flame, their kiss mellows, switching from passionate to something gentler.

Just like all those months ago, he sees euphoria and exhilaration in Aman's eyes as he relives that one rainy evening. Kartik removes the glasses off Aman's nose while Aman's fingers linger over Kartik's rain-soaked face. He wants to see those beautiful eyes without obstruction. And because he absolutely cannot resist, he pulls Aman's face towards him and plants kisses all over his face.

Kartik suddenly understands the lack of urgency in their kisses.

It's because they are not running anymore.

They have shared joys, battled storms, and created a life together in this crazy, overcrowded city. And with each passing day, they have fallen more in love. There's no urgency because they have reached where they are supposed to be.

As the rainfall increases in speed, drowning out everything else, Aman hums contently against his lips, and Kartik knows he is _home_.

With his light, his treasure, his love,

_his Aman._

_............................................................................................................................................................................................................................................._

**_**“ When I’m in his arms.** _ **

**_**I feel that I could fit** _ **

**_**in this world** _ **

**_**for now.** _ **

**_**I feel that I could love** _ **

**_**this world** _ **

**_**for now.** _ **

**_**No other places.** _ **

**_**As life embraces.** _ **

**_**When I’m in his arms."**_**

_-David Levithan_


	2. Moodboard for "Of Teacups and Cuddles"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moodboard for the first chapter is here!


	3. Of cloud shapes and confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unicorn shaped clouds, a twilight sky, and an epiphany.  
> A rooftop date circa 2017.
> 
> Prequel to Chapter 1 Of teacups and cuddles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, uh, SURPRISE! who knew I would be writing a PREQUEL? not me, lol.  
> Just thought of fleshing out that one flashback scene Kartik is very fond of reminiscing.

**cumulus clouds** [ (kyooh-myuh-luhs) ( kloudz ) ]

_noun_

Large, puffy clouds that generally appear during fair weather, although they also form thunderheads on hot days. Some carry rain.

* * *

“Aah, you make the best tea ever!” Kartik declares, relaxing back on his elbow, twirling the beverage in his fibre plastic cup. Aman turns his head, mouth frozen over a bite of samosa. He stares at his boyfriend, waiting for him to continue. But Kartik does not follow up that statement with anything else. He tilts his head up towards the sky, swaying a little- as if the gentle late afternoon breeze is responsible for it. 

Aman clears his throat before asking, “Even better than Shyam _chacha’_ s tea?” 

“Obviously _yaar_ , it's not even a competition. Yours is homemade and moreover, prepared with loooove,” Kartik singsongs the last part, tearing his gaze away from the sky to wink at him.

Aman rolls his eyes before biting into his samosa. They’ve known each other for the better part of two years, but Kartik complimenting him out of the blue still catches him off guard. 

“Drink your tea, it's getting cold,” Kartik says, draining his cup in a long gulp. He keeps the cup and the samosa plate to a side, away from the jute mat they have spread out on the rooftop. He brushes his mop of blue streaked hair away from his forehead before lying down flat on the mat. He sighs in contentment. 

Aman is in no hurry though. Tea is not to be trifled with. It's not lemonade that he will gulp it down (like a certain someone had just demonstrated). He takes his time with his tea and snacks, dipping the samosa in _dhaniya_ chutney. He savours the flavours while looking around, watching the sky changing colour, flocks of birds flying home, and Kartik by his side-

“Oye, Aman,” he says, tugging on the end of his ratty t-shirt, “I’m waiting for you to join me, in case you didn’t notice.” 

“I _am_ with you!” Aman says, looking down at his boyfriend, raising a single eyebrow.

“Well, you’re not _here_!” Kartik replies rather petulantly, patting the spot beside his head. 

Aman’s other eyebrow joins its raised counterpart. 

Kartik prods at his leg with his big toe. 

"Aman Tripathi, you come here-”

“Or else what?”

No answer.

Aman conceals a smirk behind his cup. Let him suffer. He can wait another minute.

He hears a pointed huff as he sets aside the cup, the thermos flask and the oily paper bag that contained the samosas with deliberate slowness. Then he uncrosses his legs and straightens them, wiggles his toes-

Apparently, Kartik’s patience has run out.

He barely gets the time to register a hand on his waist and another around his head before he is lying flat on the ground. One second he is looking at the peeling paint on the perimeter wall of the roof, and the next he sees the cloudy sky above, with a familiar face to the side peering down at him. 

“Wha-”, Aman sputters.

“I took the liberty. You were taking too long anyway.” Kartik says nonchalantly, cradling Aman’s head. He hovers a few inches away from his face-like he is playing out a scene from a cheesy 90s Bollywood movie. He waits for Aman’s resistance, but there is none. Because Aman secretly enjoys the swooping sensation in his stomach when Kartik pulls such stunts. So he simply nods his head minutely. A green signal received, Kartik gently sets down his head on the mat, before resuming his previous position. His right arm loosens from around Aman’s waist. Aman quickly grips the receding hand in his own. He turns to his side, to look at his infuriating, yet lovable boyfriend who is looking down at their joined hands and trying to suppress a smile. 

But who is he fooling? That dimple on Kartik’s cheek is visible from miles away, in Aman’s opinion. 

He squeezes his hand. Kartik turns his head and looks at him. 

“Don’t be grumpy, Kartik. It doesn’t suit you.” Aman says, unable to stop his own smile from forming. He pokes his dimple. Kartik’s pout deepens. 

Kartik pouting is a damn adorable sight. (This is a fact. A fact which he will never reveal to anyone. Least of all, to Kartik. That man just might use it to win any argument and then where will that leave Aman?)

Kartik huffs but shuffles closer to him nonetheless. Starlings call in the distance as they fly back home. An aeroplane flies overhead, drowning out their calls momentarily. Aman watches Kartik's eyes following its path.

“Okay so, what are we doing here?” Aman asks as he moves closer to Kartik. In such proximity, he can detect a whiff of Kartik’s aftershave. “You know, other than having an impromptu _chai_ and samosa party?”

“What do you think?”, Kartik responds to his question with another question. 

“Nothing.”

“Exactly so. Nothing.”

“Kartik...” 

Kartik spares him a sideways glance, holding his gaze for a while. His eyes twinkle and shine in the fading light of a lavender twilight.

Aman is not sure what to make of that expression. 

Kartik’s hand-the one in his grasp- twitches. Aman stares at his upturned face and waits. 

“ _Arrey_ it’s nothing, really, stop being so tensed _yaar_ ”, Kartik exclaims, seemingly flustered by the continuous staring. He boops Aman’s nose lightly with his finger before turning his attention back to the sky.

Aman, however, is not convinced. Anything to do with his unpredictable housemate-cum-boyfriend is never “nothing”. 

“It’s-” Kartik starts, then trails off. 

Aman squeezes their joined hands once. Kartik shakes his head.

“-quite silly” he finishes.

Aman knows an aborted statement when he hears one. He will charm this one out of him if he has to. 

“Tell me,” he says earnestly, “I’ll decide whether it is silly.” 

But Kartik’s attention has already been diverted elsewhere. Aman watches in mild amusement as his lips part in surprise. 

“Whoaa!!!” Kartik whispers, eyes going round in wonder. Aman unwillingly shifts his gaze away from Kartik to see what has captured his attention thus. 

In the short span of time since Aman had been tackled down by Kartik’s side, the fluffy cumulus clouds have changed colour. 

What had previously been white-grey clouds have transformed into puffs of brilliant pink-orange against a rapidly darkening purplish sky. The clouds dutifully reflect the changes in the post-sunset sky. These clouds immediately remind him of the candy floss he would coerce out of Chaman _chacha_ every time they would go to a local fair during his childhood. The masses of cumulus fluff move languidly across the sky as Aman looks on. 

“See that?” Kartik asks, voice laced with awe. 

“Yeah, the clouds really are something. You know, when I was a chi-”

“Clouds?” 

Kartik frowns before continuing, “I’m not talking about clouds, who’s talking about them, see the main thing!”

He points his finger towards a particularly big sized cloud.

“You’re showing me a cloud. What is so special about it?”

“Do you need glasses or what?”

“I do happen to have prescription glasses”

“Clearly, since you can’t even see what is visible in plain sight.”

“ _Saale_ , those are reading glasses.”

Kartik scoffs in reply. 

Aman is at a loss. He tries to find what exactly he’s supposed to be looking at. He half suspects Kartik is trying to troll him in an attempt to change the subject. It wouldn't be the first time. 

“ _Arrey dekh_ , before it disappears,” Kartik exclaims, flailing his arms for emphasis.

“Disappear? Now you're making me feel like an idiot.”

“HOW can you not see it?”

“Kartik, what am I looking at?”

Propelled by curiosity, Aman sits up. Kartik’s arm plops down to his side. Aman is squinting hard, busy scanning the sky, when he feels Kartik against his back, also sitting up now. 

Aman pauses in his search. What is so special that Kartik actually had to sit up-

His view gets obscured by two warm hands being placed over his eyes. Muted light entering through the gaps between Kartik’s fingers lends a reddish tinge to Aman’s minimal vision. 

Trust Kartik to take a dramatic route.

“You just need a refresh button,” Kartik whispers in his ear, “this way, when you look at the sky again, you’ll see it.” 

“See what?” 

Kartik liberates him from his temporary blindfold. True to Kartik’s word, this time Aman finally sees ‘it’ at the exact same time Kartik says,

“Rainbow”

Aman can’t quite fault himself for missing it at first (or second) glance. Although it is bigger than any he had previously seen, it's also discontinuous such that only parts of the arch are visible, interrupted by intermittent clouds at different places. His eyes skip over the cumulus clouds to look at a patch of red and orange, then to another patch of a bluish-green arch, then a big portion of all the seven colours blurred together. In his mind’s eye, he traces the path of a rainbow he cannot fully see. It is so vast that it encompasses the entire eastern sky, shifting and disappearing as the clouds move and reflect. 

It may not be complete or whole, but this is the most beautiful rainbow Aman has ever seen. 

(The presence of a certain someone who currently has his chin propped up on Aman’s shoulder may have factored in that judgement too.) 

“Isn’t that spectacular?, Kartik asks, voice laced with wonder, “a little broken, but still beautiful.”

Aman leans against him, detecting the wistfulness in his tone. He is sure Kartik is not just talking about the rainbow- he always had a knack for metaphors. Kartik has always had a keen eye for obscure things, things hiding in plain sight. Aman is not surprised that this discontinuous rainbow had caught his attention, rather than the impressive clouds which had taken over the entire eastern sky. 

“What took you so long, huh?” Kartik asks softly, playing with a strand of hair near Aman’s nape. (His hair is getting long. He makes a mental note to get a haircut soon. Or he will never hear the end of it from Mummy. But then he also likes it a lot when Kartik runs his fingers through his hair. Goodness knows how helpful it has been on the nights his insomnia hits. Which reminds him he won't be getting proper sleep in the next few days, and oh, he still has to pack-)

“Hello Aman, Aman hello!?” 

Kartik taps on his forehead. Aman breaks out from his contemplative state with a start.

…

“You're thinking so loud, I can hear you from here bro,” Kartik tells him rather matter-of-factly, hands going back in his hair. Aman closes his eyes, choosing to ground himself to the present.

“ _Achha_? What am I thinking of?”

“Hmm, let's see...Whether to get a haircut or not, what to pack for the journey, what to cook for dinner tonight”, Kartik lists, counting them off his fingers, “did I get them all?”

Aman chuckles. His capacity to fret over multiple things is something Kartik is used to by now.

“Yeah, well, almost all. I am also thinking of how I messed up my biochem exam yesterday.”

Kartik groans, exhaling out a soft “oof”. He moves around to face Aman.

“Baby,” he murmurs, evening out the creases on Aman’s forehead, “I bring you to our lovely little rooftop with its lovely little view, so that you can relax, take a break from all that overthinking, yet here we are!”. Slowly brushing his fingers through Aman’s fringe, he continues, “I just thought that we could, you know, stay away from the reality of your exam results and your upcoming trip and other things that are looming over your head, and just do nothing.”

Aman opens his eyes.

“Is that what you meant earlier? Doing ‘nothing’?”

Kartik pauses in his movements, then drops his hand. Aman immediately misses the touch. He refuses to meet Aman’s eyes.

“Told you, it's silly.”

Now Aman gets it.

“No, it's not.” 

Kartik does not look convinced. 

“You're just saying that.’

Aman shifts closer, going slightly cross-eyed due to the proximity. 

“No Kartik, I’m not. Look”, he says, grabbing Kartik’s hand, “Just like I love doing everything with you, similarly, I love doing nothing with you as well.” 

His lips quirk up in a small smile. 

“Everything?”

Aman tries very hard not to roll his eyes.

“Well, mostly. Doing nothing sounds good too.”

“Really?”

Aman nods in affirmative.

Because he understands, all of a sudden. This is an escape not just meant for him, but Kartik as well. Kartik, who doesn’t take their temporary separation too well but bears it with a smile on his face. 

...

“Hey, Kartik” 

Kartik looks up from Aman’s shoulder where he had been resting his head.

“Hmm?”

“Will you miss me? 

“Nah, not at all.”

Aman stares down at him.

“Of course I will, how is this even a valid question? But it's only for four days _na_? I’ll manage.”

“Five days.”

Kartik lets out a long-suffering sigh. Then he straightens up, thumps his chest with his fist and declares with the gusto of a theatre major, “For you, I will endure, _mere Jaan-e-aman_!” 

Despite the comic display of affection which makes Aman snort rather inelegantly, he knows his boyfriend really means it. He will go through the days in an empty flat with an unmade bed and stacked dishes with a silent countdown ticking in his head; and he will be the one waiting for Aman in a deserted railway station at midnight, a lopsided smile on his sleep-deprived face. And without fail, Aman will deposit himself in those outstretched arms and melt into his tight embrace. Because Aman will fare no better. 

He thinks of how going to Allahabad has slowly been relegated to a chore that he has to perform, rather than something he should be looking forward to- this was, after all, going back to where his family was. For all intents and purposes, he should be happy to go, a welcome respite from the madness of the capital city. But now each visit back to the Tripathi house is accompanied by a feeling of uneasiness, and then guilt. Even amidst the chaos and love and laughter of his family, the feeling of emptiness persists-because despite being there physically, Aman’s mind would be miles away, in a small nondescript flat in East Delhi. How could he enjoy the company of his family when the one he wanted to share this familial cheer and happiness was situated three hundred miles away from him? 

“Me too, Kartik.”

“Me too what?”

“I’ll miss you too.”

Kartik bites his lip and looks away. It appears like he wants to tell Aman to stay. But Aman knows he won’t. 

That’s one of the things about him. Always placing others’ happiness and interest above his own.

“Five days.” Aman murmurs. As if that is any consolation.

Kartik shakes his head vigorously, trying to shake the thought of the upcoming week away like a wet dog shakes off water droplets from its fur. 

“Now let’s not dwell on that, baby. _Chal_ , I’ll show you something,” he says, before lying down flat on the mat again. He beckons to Aman to join him. 

“There are no stars tonight, what’s there to see now?” Aman asks but nevertheless lowers himself down beside Kartik. In an act of impulsiveness, he places his head on Kartik’s bicep; he can feel the toned muscles shift, adjusting to the additional weight. Kartik simply pulls him closer, his fingers carding through the unruly strands of Aman’s hair, weaving patterns on his scalp. He seems to be very attached to his hair. Aman has half a mind to let it grow out.

“Well, today is the day of unforeseen events. Who knows, we just might see a meteor shower?” he says airily. 

“Don’t be crazy, there’s-”

“If you can tear your gaze away from my handsome face for one minute and look up, you’ll know what I’m talking about.”

Caught in the act. Aman’s face flames. He’s glad it’s gone dark now. 

“ _Kaun_ handsome?” he scoffs but looks up anyway. 

Clouds. Big fluffy clouds again. This time, greyish-white against an inky blue sky. 

Aman is half afraid it is something not related to the clouds.

“Kartik I swear if it’s something obscure again-”

“No _re baba_. Now, pay attention.”

“To what?” 

“Madhya Pradesh.”

That’s it. Kartik Singh has officially lost the last shred of sanity he used to possess. 

“You’ve totally lost me.”

In response, Kartik lifts his free hand up in the air and twirls it once. He waves his index finger around like an opera conductor giving a musical cue. Aman watches his movement closely. 

Kartik appears to be tracing the outline of a cloud.

When he finishes, he says, “See?”

Aman hums, half paying attention. The surrounding darkness and the magic fingers running across his scalp is making him too relaxed to properly focus. Kartik must have mistaken Aman’s lack of enthusiastic response as a deterrent because his lifted hand drops down slowly. He can hear Kartik trying to suppress a sigh. 

“Ah, nevermind…”

Aman quickly hastens to rectify the situation. He squints up at the cloud in question.

‘I don’t think that’s Madhya Pradesh. That’s Australia.”

Kartik takes the momentary lapse in stride and huffs out a peal of laughter. “You need to open an atlas if you think that looks like Australia” 

“Upside-down Australia”

“That’s it, I’m getting you an atlas from Daryaganj.”

“ _Bhak_.”

…

“Back in Allahabad,” Aman starts abruptly after a stretch of silence, “when I was going through a moody phase in my pre-teens, cloud watching used to be my favourite pastime.” 

“Moody, huh? Guess who that reminds me of.”

“Shut up, I was in crisis mode.”

“Arrival of the gay panic?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“I’m glad you were at least looking up in the sky rather than sulking all day in your room.”

“Oh don't get me wrong, I did tend to stay cooped up in my room. But the window by my bed was quite big. I would sit by the window and watch the clouds. How they floated by, changed colour, got reflected in the flowing river. I sometimes wished I could be a cloud. Then I would be free.” 

“Wow, that’s pretty deep for a kid.”

“Moody, remember?” 

Kartik nuzzles his cheek.

“You still got it, my moody baby”

“Don't you start!”

Kartik plants a little kiss on top of his head. 

“So, all that cloud watching, did it inspire any poetry?” he asks.

Aman’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He turns his head towards Kartik.

“You remember that?”

Aman had once told him in passing, back in the early days of their friendship, that he used to write poetry in a little leather-bound journal. He’s surprised that he remembers. 

“I remember everything you tell me, Aman.”

“You forgot to buy milk yesterday, despite me telling you about it twice.”

The fingers caressing his hair stop. Kartik clears his throat.

“I remember everything you tell me _about yourself_ ,” he amends hurriedly. 

Aman should really stop getting astounded at the extent of Kartik's thoughtfulness, but the man never ceases to amaze him. 

“So, did you?” Kartik quips as he resumes stroking Aman’s hair again.

“The clouds inspired doodles and sketches more than it inspired any poetry, to be honest.”

“Doodles? Sketches? You draw? Aman Tripathi, have you been holding out on me?” Kartik asks in a mock accusatory tone.

Aman turns his attention back to the sky. A gentle breeze is blowing southward, propelling clouds to move as if in a hurry. 

“It's nothing much, just amateur drawings” he mumbles.

“Hmm, knowing you, it's probably anything but amateurish. You do have a record of downplaying your achievements.”

“Believe me, it's nothing worth bragging about.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“ _Bola na_ , it's nothing that good. Anyway, I never got to pursue much of it. Wanted to enrol in art class, but Papa felt it was too ‘girly’ a hobby for his son.”

Kartik looks affronted on his behalf.

“Nevertheless, if you ever feel comfortable to show me your drawings, I-”

“Okay, I'll try and look for my sketchbook when I go back this time”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Goggle might actually help, who knows. If I’m gonna get a free boost of self-esteem courtesy my boyfriend, why not take it?” 

Kartik bites his lip, trying to reign in his smile. 

“What did I say?”

Aman goes over what he just said. 

Ah. Kartik always reacts this way when he calls him “boyfriend”. As if it hasn't been months since they transitioned from friends to lovers. 

“Oh, now look at that! The Madhya Pradesh _wala_ cloud has broken up!” Kartik exclaims. Aman looks back up, trying to suppress his own smile at the attempt at diversion.

“That one was definitely an Australia.” 

“Madhya Pradesh.”

“Australia”

“Madhya Pradesh.”

“ _Ulta_ Australia”

“Madhya Pradesh. It even has a Chhattisgarh on the side! Just like how it split up in 2001.”

Aman gives up. “Fine fine, what's that one then?” he asks, pointing to a different cloud.

“You know what, that one looks like Shyam _Chacha’_ s tea stall.”

“How on earth can a cloud resemble a _tapri_?” 

“It just does. I don't make the rules.”

“There are no rules.”

“Exactly.”

Kartik has a smug smile on his face as he makes his point. Aman unwillingly concedes.

“Let's move on to the next one.”

Kartik then cranes his neck in a different angle trying to look at the other clouds.

“Hawww! That one looks like a goat!”

“Goat? You are just randomly assigning names now. Australia cloud, I let that one go, but this one is not a goat.”

“Ok, you tell me what is it if not a goat?”

Aman ponders for sometime before saying,

“I think it's a fluffy cat.”

“Wow. Way to go Tripathi!”

“Better than your goat at least!” 

“What problem do you have with goats?” 

“And what problem do you have with fluffy cats?”

“To be honest Aman, all the clouds up there could be fluffy cats”

“More like sheep. Lots and lots of sheep.”

“ _Achha,toh_ sheep are fine, goats are not?”

“What are you, Patron Saint of goats?” 

“Unicorn.”

Aman blinks.

Kartik grabs Aman’s right hand and points it to the direction of a very oddly shaped cloud. Aman follows the path of their joined hands as Kartik traces a figure in the air.

“Well?” he asks, lowering their hands. Now that he has pointed it out so convincingly, Aman can actually visualise a unicorn galloping across the sky.

“Your imagination astounds me,” Aman whispers, not bothering to hide the admiration in his tone.

“You can always count on me to show you something magical.”

“You are better at this than I am.”

“Yeah well, I have had practice, since...”

Kartik trails off.

The clouds form new shapes, reshape, float away, break apart in a matter of minutes as the wind picks up speed. Aman’s eyes follow their passage and transformation.

“There goes the fluffy cat. Now it’s transformed into sad candy floss.” 

Kartik doesn't say anything. He has gone very quiet. 

Aman has a feeling something is brewing in Kartik’s head, otherwise he never willingly passes up an opportunity to appreciate a lame joke. He has gotten good at reading Kartik’s silences-the tired ones, the angry ones, the speechless ones, the contemplative ones, the still-trying-to-process ones, the nostalgic ones-each one of a different kind. Aman stays alert and waits, meanwhile breathing in the smell of freshly baked bread, the scent wafting up from a nearby local bakery and permeating the air. If he really listens hard, he can hear the faint strains of _azan_ emanating from the nearest mosque, coupled with the distant sounds of bhajan playing in the locality’s Hanuman temple. The evening breeze deposits dried leaves and detritus on the concrete terrace, producing a “ _khas-khas_ ” sound as they roll around in abandon. He is somewhat surprised to see fireflies in his vicinity, their glowing bodies blinking in and out of existence. The overall ambience almost reminds him of Allahabad. The only thing lacking is the sound of a rushing river in the backdrop. 

The smell of freshly baked goods almost overpowers another scent- a familiar, earthy smell he can’t quite put his finger on. Since most of his attention is on Kartik’s lingering silence, he doesn’t dwell much upon it. 

Aman turns over to face him. The clouds can wait. Kartik’s silence is making him a little nervous now. He places his hand on his chest, fingers bunching up the soft fabric of his t-shirt. Kartik places his hand atop his own, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath as if to steel himself. 

“So about having practice…” Kartik begins, visibly struggling to put his thoughts into words.

“Kartik, you don't have to say anything you don't want to okay? Not everything needs an explanation.”

“But I want to. Say it, I mean. Sorry um,” he huffs out, “I've actually never had to articulate this.”

“You don't have to apo-why are you apologising?”

“Because I’m not making sense.”

“You haven't said anything yet.” 

Kartik still hasn't opened his eyes. He tugs Aman closer to him. 

Deriving strength.

“When I was around five, during the summer nights, Ma would spread out our tattered charpoy in the backyard after dinner. I would lay my head on her lap and she would tell me stories. She used to say every single thing up in the sky had a story. I would laugh and say, ‘ _even the clouds_ ?’ and she would say, ‘ _yes, the clouds too._ ’ Thus began our ritual of cloud storytime. I would start off with an outlandish story and she would pick up the thread and make up the rest on the way. Believe me, she was such an amazing storyteller. The best in the world.” Kartik says, clutching on to Aman’s hand tight. 

Aman remains still. He listens with rapt attention. 

Whenever Kartik talks about his past (which is rare and few in-between), it is always flippantly and in a self-deprecating kind of way. That’s a thing about Kartik. He had the capacity to talk a lot without actually saying anything of substance. But Aman is not dumb. Beneath the layers of humour and sass, he could glean out certain things. He figures Kartik had an unhappy, possibly abusive, childhood. An alcoholic father who neglected his son and a mother gone too soon. He cannot imagine what it must have taken him to say all this aloud to Aman. 

“There were all sorts of stories, horses to pigeons to castles and everything in between. For those few hours, I would lose myself the lilt of her soothing voice.

It is one of those very rare memories I have of Ma. I can’t remember her face sometimes. Or, the shape of her smile, or how she spoke, the sound of her laughter. But somehow, I remember this, the moments of comfort. Isn't that weird, Aman?”

Aman has to swallow a sob rising up in his throat before he can answer Kartik. 

“It’s not at all weird, Kartik.”

Kartik steals a glance, expression almost disbelieving. Aman wonders who put that idea in his head.

“Who told you that?”

“He didn’t say it, but certainly implied it.”

Aman didn’t have to ask who this “he” is, from the way Kartik’s jaw clenches. 

His father.

“On the contrary,” Aman says, turning his head back towards the sky, to give some semblance of privacy to Kartik, “I think it's the memories that keep a loved one alive, even when they are gone.” 

Kartik lets out a breath in a _whoosh_. Aman traces his finger over his wrist, noting the faint thrumming of his pulse point. 

“That’s the best way to honour them,” he concludes.

Aman understands the magnanimity of the situation. What Kartik has just revealed to him may sound trivial to others, but it is something that he has probably never shared with anyone else in a very long time. 

“You’re the first person I’ve told this to, Aman.”

Aman whips his head around. 

He had said that aloud, hadn’t he?

Aman doesn’t know what to say to that except a choked out, “Why?”

Kartik shifts to lie on his side, jostling both of them in the process. Facing Aman, he brings up their joined hands and tucks them underneath his chin. In the semi-darkness, Aman looks for signs of anguish or regret on Kartik’s face but finds none. Either he is hiding it very well, or-

“Why not?” 

“Because”, Aman says before taking a pause, marvelling at the complexity of the simple question.

“I don’t know Kartik.”

He really doesn’t.

Does he really mean so much to Kartik? Enough that he felt comfortable to share this with him?

Kartik means a lot to him, there is no question of it. They do share a life together in this chaotic city that doubles as a capital. And he knows that Kartik cares for him too. Kartik shows his care through his day to day actions and his affection through words and touches. He never lets Aman second guess this, at least. So yes, they both care a lot about each other.

It’s just that…they never talk about it. 

Aman loves him. Loving Kartik is easy. 

But, is he in love with Kartik? 

His breath hitches at the thought. 

He has begun to think of Kartik as something more than a lover. More than his live-in partner. 

Aman hadn’t realised when it had happened, but Kartik had slowly become synonymous with a sense of home. Not as a mere placeholder, but like a permanent tenant in his head and heart. Now he can admit to himself, after this moment of epiphany, that though his love for Allahabad and his family is in no way diminished, it had always felt incomplete.

Because home is no longer just a place, not for him. 

Home is in the aroma of ginger tea placed in his hands after a morning of studying. Home is in the fragrance of a surprise bouquet on their dining table. Home is in the feeling of reunion in a darkened railway platform. Home is in the feeling of getting reacquainted with each other in the confines of their bedroom. Home is in the imprint of a kiss on his forehead. Home is in the warmth of a borrowed hoodie. Home is in the comfort of a tight embrace. Home is in the strains of a lullaby on sleepless nights.

Home is in the shared space on a dusty rooftop, cloud watching to pass the time.

Kartik squeezes his hand. 

“Look at that one,” he says, breaking him out of his reverie, “this one looks like a small cottage, the kind of houses we see in cartoons, _hain na_? And another one, beside it. Definitely a big healthy cow, that one."

Aman hums as he follows his finger again as it traces shapes in the air. He looks at all the clouds now, not any specific one. He notices how they have all changed their forms in the short time that Aman has not been paying attention to them.

The thing about clouds is, if looked at continuously, they appear to be unchanging. One can’t really detect when they have moved or changed their forms. But if looked at intermittently, one realizes they’ve been moving and constantly re-shaping. 

The same goes for their relationship, Aman muses. Since they are always in each other’s horizons, they themselves do not detect the changes, others do. Aman himself never had a chance to sit back and retrospect. 

Fundamentally, they are still Kartik and Aman. But something has gradually changed, in the last few months.

They have grown together, as people, as individuals. 

They are like these clouds too. Growing, merging, moving. Ever-changing, ever-evolving. Unique in form.

But together. 

With this metaphorical musing, the last piece of puzzle slots in. 

_“I don’t want to lose you,” the heart says._

Kartik continues to point out shapes. Aman listens with half an ear as waves of epiphany crash over him. 

_“I need you” the brain pleads._

He decides then and there that he never wants to be devoid of this feeling-of warmth, thrill and security-that he feels when he is around Kartik.

_“I love you” the lips utter._

...

The moment the words are out in the air, in the space between their heads, Kartik stiffens in surprise. 

Aman can understand why. 

Between the two of them, he never thought he’d be the first one to say it. Aman had always thought it would be Kartik. 

Aman himself is frozen, not quite believing what he had just uttered. 

But then, the words had been on the tip of his tongue before. He had wanted to say them, for the past several days, weeks, but it had never felt like the right time. But now that he has said it…

He does not regret it one bit.

They remain still as statues, almost afraid to break the silence or the stillness in the air. 

Aman bows his head, not out of shame, but out of mortification. Kartik has just revealed a touching memory of his past, and he just had to go and ruin that with an ill-timed confession. His hand is still enclosed in Kartik’s own. He chances a glance at him.

Kartik’s face is strangely devoid of any emotions, the momentary look of surprise long gone. 

Aman internally curses his impulsiveness rearing its head at inappropriate moments. 

(But then, where would they be without it? It's the same impulsivity that had made Aman pull Kartik in for what would be their first kiss in the backseat of a darkened cab.)

Kartik is yet to let go of his hand. 

Aman should say something, he really should. The silence is stretching, and for once, he cannot interpret it.

A sudden wetness on his nose pulls Aman out of his inner tumultuous thoughts. Then another on his cheek, another on his forehead. 

Raindrops. 

They had been so caught up in one another they never noticed that the clouds looming over their heads are actually rain clouds. Aman curses internally. He should have remembered that clouds that reflect rainbows and appear dark pink at sunset are moisture-laden to some extent. And the scent in the air he had detected earlier, but could not put a name to-how did he miss the smell of petrichor?

The surroundings have become significantly darker, such that he can no longer make out detailed features of anything. 

“Get up, get up, it’s started to rain!” he exclaims, shooting up from his spot. He quickly begins to gather their discarded cups and plates and begins to tug on the mat.

Kartik still hasn't moved. He’s looking at Aman, unblinkingly.

“ _Arrey yaar_ , d’you want to get soaked or what?” Aman says, frantically trying to locate his slippers in the dark. The tea flask rolls away in the ensuing scuffle. 

The few pattering drops soon turn into a proper drizzle, the sound of rain hitting the concrete gaining prominence over everything else.

Aman gathers everything up in his one hand and sticks out the other hand to Kartik, to help him up.

Kartik finally moves. He takes the outstretched hand and sits up, too slow for Aman’s liking. 

“Am-” Kartik rasps out, unable to finish what he intends to say.

He’s kneeling in front of Aman now. Aman freezes.

Rain. Two men in love. Holding hands. One kneeling, the other standing. 

It almost looks like a scene out of a marriage proposal. The thought creeps up unbidden in his mind.

Aman clears his throat, trying hard not to think of that parallel now as he steadily gets soaked. He tugs at their joined hands. 

What happens next is not Aman’s fault, not one bit.

One moment Kartik is looking up at him, the next he jumps up and leans right into his personal space. All he can manage is a tiny exhale of surprise before Kartik captures his lips with his own.

He is motionless for a split second. Kartik places his palms on either side of his face, and his eyes flutter shut. The assortment of cups and plates drop from his hand.

Now, he’s a man of reason. Though the chances are minimal, he knows the trouble they will be in- they may even be evicted, or worse, attacked- if someone sees them like this. 

But he is also a man of science. Who is he to prevent the explosions of dopamine in his bloodstream when Kartik cradles his face like he is the most precious thing in the world? Who is he to deny the oxytocin flooding his system when Kartik presses his lush lips over his own? How can he have room for fear when endorphins wash over him in gentle waves, drowning out everything else? He cannot overrule his own hypothalamus now, can he?

Kartik tugs lightly on his bottom lip. Aman parts his lips and lets go of his inhibitions. 

The moment he does, the kiss turns from soft and gentle to something fiery and intense. Kartik angles his face a certain way, tilting Aman’s face to deepen the kiss. A moan builds up in his throat, his toes curling over the wet concrete. Aman sways in Kartik’s hold, rendered dizzy by his devouring lips. But Kartik steadies him, one arm going around his shoulder. 

Kartik kisses him like the world is about to end, and they are the last two people standing. He puts everything into the kiss, everything he cannot vocalise, everything he cannot say out loud-it's all there. He's standing here in the pouring rain, conveying everything to Aman through unsaid words and unsung prayers. Aman’s hands travel down Kartik's torso, fingers brushing over the wet t-shirt clinging to his body. His arms go around his waist, pulling him closer, and closer still, his tongue tentatively sweeping over Kartik’s soft lips. This time it is Kartik who moans. Aman catalogues that sound in his mental checklist about all things Kartik. Kartik’s hand migrates from his face and latches on to his rain-soaked hair. Theirs is a frenetic dance- electricity flowing between the two. Sparks fly, like they are substituting for the lack of thunder and lightning the rain clouds are supposed to provide.

The kiss turns hungrier, messier. An urgency of some sort is coursing through his veins, building up with every sweep of tongue over unrelenting lips. Aman stretches up, balancing himself on his toes. He cannot stop-he's an unstoppable force. Kissing Kartik right now feels like continuing to sprint in a race, long after having crossed the finishing line-he just can’t stop, in spite of having won, despite being out of breath.

Kartik is unwilling to let him go, he can feel it in the way he holds on to him. His other hand moves lower, tracing patterns in Aman’s hipbone over the thin material of his bermuda shorts. If anything, he deepens the kiss, fingers now brushing over his nape. Aman keens the moment he caresses the sensitive spot on his nape. Drenched as they both are, he cannot really blame Kartik- he doesn't want to let go of him either. How can Aman ever let him go, when he fires up his every nerve ending simply with his touch? When his every movement is an ode, a tribute, to him, to them and their love?

That's what this is. Love at it’s purest, unfiltered form. The kind that surpasses vocabulary, goes beyond languages known and unknown. 

He, Aman Tripathi, is head over heels, unabashedly and irrevocably in love.

When the need for oxygen becomes too dire to ignore, Kartik detaches with a soft exhale and a whisper lost to the wind

“Aman”

A single word that encompasses a lot more than just his name when _he_ says it. He stands there with water dripping off the ends of his short hair, mouth gaping like a fish out of water. He brings his fingers up to his lips, appearing shy all of a sudden. 

Aman, himself dazed, trying to catch his breath, looks on in wonder. Kartik Singh doesn't do shy. 

Unless. 

“Aman…”

Kartik tries to say more, but no sound comes out. Aman places a finger over Kartik’s trembling yet smiling lips.

“Shh. I know.”

He has known for a while. He thinks they both have. The last piece in the puzzle-their mutual love.

In the minimal ambient light, he sees Kartik’s blue-black hair plastered to his forehead. Aman knows he himself is doing no better. He can feel his lips curving into a smile. Almost in synchronisation, they lean their foreheads against each other. Breathing each other in as the rain comes down in sheets around them.

Kartik’s hands brush along his shoulders, down his arms and elbows until he reaches his wrists. His pulse thunders against his fingertips. 

“Aman”

“Kartik”

This time, it's Aman who initiates the kiss.

The last coherent thought in Aman’s head before Kartik steals his breath away is this: 

_He's the rainbow to my storm._

_And I am his._

_In the end, that is all that should matter._

* * *

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be honest, this fic chapter took me the longest time to write- close to 50 days! Written through periods of writers slump, this was quite an exercise in discipline. I have had days when I cried, the writing was so shitty. but I guess, end of the day its all worth it. :)  
> Consider this chapter a love letter to the readers of this fandom. y'all deserve fluff.  
> I love you 3000. 
> 
> P.S.: Sib, my enabler supremo, I just want to say, thank you for picking me up when I was on the verge of giving up on this.


	4. Moodboard for "Of Cloud Shapes and Confessions"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> of course, no piece of mine is complete without a moodboard. so here you go. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> would love to hear your thoughts! come yell at my Tumblr (@butterflywithwritersblock)

**Author's Note:**

> Its been raining cats and dogs here in my city for the last few days, and this is the most pleasant first week of May I've ever experienced! During one such rainy afternoon, I was sitting all by my lonesome and watching the clouds and the downpour. The only thing missing was a cuddle-buddy. Hence, this stream of consciousness fluff-without-plot was born! ^_^  
> The song/poem at the end is from David Levithan's book "How they met and other stories" and I felt it fitting in this context.  
> I hope you enjoyed this. Kudos, comments, and discussions are always highly appreciated! :))


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